One Writer Girl
by JennaBennett
Summary: Beckett wasn't kidding when she said that she was a one writer girl - it doesn't come without its complications though. Set after 3x21.
1. Chapter 1

_One Writer Girl_

Beckett let loose a frustrated sigh through tightly clenched teeth and flung the book – gently, she wasn't a monster, it _was_ a book – to the floor. She slipped further into her warm bath and stared unblinkingly at a crack splaying her ceiling. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told Castle she was a one writer girl. It was maddening at times. She'd been trying to read the perfectly respectable crime novel fresh off the press, but her attention was elsewhere. She knew exactly where it was focussed – _Castle_. Not the man himself – although, he often ran havoc in her thoughts – but his words, the books that had brought them together. The ongoing saga of Nikki, Rook and justice was consuming her thoughts. She needed more. She needed to know what happened next. No other story would satisfy her hunger.

Her frustration only increased with the knowledge that she had literally _just_ finished the most recent Richard Castle novel. She would have to wait months, verging on _years_ for the next instalment. She was one of the lucky few permitted an advanced copy but it still wasn't quick enough. As far as she knew Castle had only begun to craft the next conspiracy or mystery that Nikki and Rook would find themselves ravelled in. He had only started to outline the development that Nikki and Rook's romance would progress throughout its pages. The title would be far from constructed, the cover design even further so.

It was infuriating. She needed answers. She needed them now. She couldn't get lost in another book when she was so consumed in world Castle had infused so innately into her psyche. Being a one writer girl certainly had its drawbacks.

Her professed memory reminded her of one thing – she had a unique access to that writer, _that_ certainly had to be considered a perk…

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Castle threw a casual glance over to his phone as it shrilled. _Beckett_. He lost all pretence of nonchalant and dived for the object, cursing as he knocked it further from his reach in his haste to answer.

"Castle," he managed to choke out quite smoothly, given the manner in which he'd winded himself on the edge of his desk struggling to get on a grip on dammed slippery, shiny phone. Alexis shot him a judgemental look, laced with affection and he attempted to get a handle on his perturbation. In a highly mature move he stuck his tongue out at his daughter. The girl rolled her eyes with a grin. It was the little moments in their relationship that stunned him into awed pride of the woman she'd become, _his little girl_.

"You're not in the middle of anything are you?" the frustrated edge to Beckett's voice drew Castle's attention fully to the woman at the other end of the line.

"Oh no. Alexis is just expressing her admiration of my phone answering skills. I'm like a ninja, Beckett. It's amazing, I tell you," he chuckled brightly.

"I'm sure," Beckett responded dryly.

"What are you up to?" Castle pressed gently, anxious to know the reason Beckett had called without stating a body drop as a means of greeting.

"Nothing, just reading," she sighed. Castle didn't miss the annoyance colouring her tone – he did, however, somewhat pointedly ignore it.

"What a coincidence, I'm writing," he responded enthusiastically. Beckett groaned. Not exactly the response he'd planned on eliciting with that statement. He knew she liked his books. It was actually a little disconcerting that she seemed that disappointed to hear he was writing. He had kind of hoped she'd been excited and he could tease her with plot ideas. "A little insulated here, Beckett," he grumbled, keeping a lightness to his tone that he hoped would assure her he wasn't genuinely hurt – _yet_. That only served to pull another sigh from her lips.

"You're killing me, Castle," she admitted quietly, her words barely more than a whisper. If Castle wasn't so attuned to the very tenor of her tone, he was sure he may have missed it.

"I'm sorry?" he murmured, completely lost as to meaning behind her words. He wondered if it would be appropriate for him to tell her that she was killing him too, having her and all her beautiful glory in his life _everyday_ without being able to _touch_ her – kiss her, hold her, tell her that he loved her. Yes. That was definitely killing him too. He couldn't discern if that was where her admission was headed though, so he refrained, waiting on her to expand on her weighted statement.

"I just – oh, don't worry about it…" she trailed away, every word laced with latent hesitation.

"I do worry about it, I mean, I will worry about it if you don't tell me," Castle asserted hastily. Alexis threw him a puzzled look, clearly hearing his side of the conversation. He shook his head at her and she smiled sweetly. She rose, gesturing to the empty tea cup clasped in her hand, he shook his head once again and she ambled from the room. He heard the kettle burst to life moments later, the shrill noise a stark contrast to the silence spilling from the line. "Beckett," he placated gently.

"Could you tell me a story?" she blurted out suddenly, her mind's filter falling short.

"Any story?" he tried to school his tone, the surprise still dwelling feverishly close to the surface.

"Umm, Nikki and Rook?" he didn't need to see her to know that her teeth were clamped firmly on her bottom lip as she spoke. He wisely bit back the laughter rising in his throat. She _was_ such a closet fan girl. It was endearingly sweet – and, also insanely _hot_. It pulled fantasies to the forefront of his mind – them, in _their_ bed carefully crafting the more intimate scenes from his books. He was unequivocally sure that the practical construction of his novels could only add to his writing prowess. Maybe if it he argued that it was imperative to his career she might be swayed… Probably best not to ask right at this moment. He cleared his throat –

"I don't have much written, just the first couple of chapters. I could email them to you?" he rambled, nonchalance apparently a thing of the past. He used to be smooth. Beckett had ruined him.

"Can you read them to me?" she groaned. "Agh," she gulped. "You could just email them to me. That's cool, too," apparently Beckett wasn't so smooth herself these days.

"I can read them," Castle declared hastily. "Over the phone?" he hedged after mulling it over for a second.

"Yeah. Or… You could come over," Beckett added, a detached air to her voice betraying none of the apprehension her invitation initiated in her own traitorous body.

"Yeah," Castle agreed softly. "Yeah," he affirmed more seriously. "See you soon." He disconnected the call, excitement and so much more coiled tightly within his stomach. Snatching his laptop from the socket, he threw a hasty farewell to Alexis before sprinting to the elevator.

Beckett set down the phone with a muted sigh, her body humming in anticipation. She pulled the plug from the bathtub, drying off and pulling on some comfy sweats. She planted herself on the couch, the ends of her hair still dripping. What was it she'd been thinking about being a one writer girl? The perks _definitely_ outweighed the pitfalls.

**AN: Apparently I like to unwind from writing essays by writing some more… Whatever. **

**Your opinions mean the world to me – please review! **

**Oh, because I'm all for excessive sharing, this story was inspired by my current frustration – I read the most recent Kathy Reich's novel and I need the next one, **_**now**_**! Seriously, this on-again, off-again relationship is doing my head in! **

**Also, I can't decide if this will be a one shot or not? Help? Indecision rules me… **

**(Apologies for the repost, apparently FF net ate this story…) **


	2. Chapter 2

_One Writer Girl_

_Chapter Two_

Beckett couldn't settle herself comfortably onto the couch. She tossed and turned, tizzy with anticipation. She occupied her mind, or at least attempted to do so, by jumping from her seated position to perform menial task every minute or so. First, she noticed a sudden aching dryness to her throat which demanded meandering to the kitchen for a glass of water. Her thirst satisfied, she set about tidying her apartment. It wasn't messy per se, there were some clothes strewn slightly out of order from late nights and early mornings at the precinct. Most of them ended up flung into her dirty laundry basket, she'd have to get on to that sometime soon. She considered starting a load now, immediately talking herself out of it when she realised she really couldn't be bothered. It wasn't because the noise from the machine would contrast with Castle's soft – but strong – voice as he read to her. That certainly wasn't the _real_ reason.

She continued to nest, rearranging trinkets and absentmindedly dusting her bookshelves. She really couldn't find it in her to sit still. If she sat, she would think, and if she thought…Well, there was no telling where they would end up. It would probably come across as inappropriate if she straddled Castle the moment he walked through her door. She needed to stop thinking about it. _The story_, she was excited about the story – that was all. It wasn't about inviting the man she _something-ed_ over to her apartment late at night. Not at all. She managed to stop short of actually rearranging her furniture, settling for pacing. Pacing was good. Exercise was important.

Maybe she needed a glass of warm milk? How the hell was she this wound up just because Castle was coming over? It wasn't like he'd never visited before… It was _like_ the first time she'd called and just barely stopped short of begging him to come though. There was that…

Best not to think about it. Damn that milk was taking a while to heat up. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the countertop before growling and resuming pacing. She needed an outlet for this nervous energy. At that, an image of ah, Castle _helping_ her _exercise_ sprung to mind. She snorted, like thinking about _that_ was going to help her calm down. _The story_, _the story, the story_, she chanted to herself over and over again. That's what it had been about after all, she had a genuine thirst for the story that only Castle could satisfy. Only Castle's _books_ could satisfy. Damn it.

She really needed to get all these thoughts out of her system before the man himself showed up on her doorstep. No sooner had that thought reverberated round her mind then a resounding knock was clanging through the room. Super. Castle never failed to be the master of impeccable timing.

If there was one thing Beckett had learnt in her years as a police officer – her lifetime of being a woman, for that matter – she had a formidable poker face. She plastered it on, opening the door with a soft, completely unaffected, smile.

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Castle's greeting died on his lips at the sight of the woman before him. Breathtaking. She simply was. She didn't need a sexy dress or killer heels. _Her_, in all her soft, casual glory was more than enough. She was the kind of beauty every woman secretly hated, completely unassuming and utterly radiant. Best of all, she wanted _him_ to read to her. He was the luckiest man in the world. He didn't even need to touch her to know that (granted, the knowledge didn't diminish the _wanting_ to touch her in any capacity). He was human after all – she _clearly_ was some otherworldly angel sent to torture him with her untouchable splendour.

Also, her hair was wet. He thought he'd heard a slosh of water during their phone call.

"Detective Beckett, did you call me from the _bathtub?_" he husked, choking on the last word like it was unfamiliar to his tongue.

"Wouldn't be the first time," she smirked, a teasing glint in her eye as she twirled a thick, damp strand of hair through her fingers. Castle vaguely remembered that there was some breathing thing he was supposed to be doing. Apparently, gawking at Beckett like a dumbstruck teenager took precedence over the menial technicalities of the human condition.

His hand rose without his permission (yet, his damn traitorous body forget to breathe when he wasn't expressly ordering it to do so? Clearly his body was failing him. Perhaps he should seek medical help? Mental help? Might be closer to the truth…) His completely independent fingers grasped a strand of Beckett's hair of their own volition. He tucked the wayward hair gently behind her ear, smiling at her in a manner he hoped could be construed as abashed and not dangerously predatory.

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_Oh_. Castle's fingers were tangled in her hair and her poker face was melting. Not slipping, _melting_, in that ice-cream on a hot summers day, wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz kind of way. Fantastic. At least her sarcasm hadn't left her. There was that.

She shifted away from him slightly. She needed distance. Before she closed the _distance_ and mauled the poor man's face. Distance was perspective. His current proximity was definitely messing with that. It's not like she'd lured him over with the overt forethought of seduction. She couldn't deny that ever since the invitation had slipped unbidden – okay, totally bidden – from her lips it had been the wild undercurrent consuming her mind. The worst part was, she knew that it wouldn't be _hard_ to seduce him. If anything, the ravenous look in his eyes just reminded her that he was in a somewhat constant state of resisting the urge to claim her as his own.

Whatever her fickle thoughts trenched to the surface of her mind, she had invited him here for a purpose and she intended to see that through. _The story_, she did her dandiest to refocus her attention on it.

"Come in," she gestured, trying to ignore the hurt that flitted across his face momentarily as she stepped away from his touch. It stung. She didn't want to hurt him. The brevity of it all crumpled her expression and he softened, lilting airily into the apartment like it was the most natural thing in the world. He planted himself on the sofa, considering for a moment before he clumsily swung his feet onto the coffee table, wordlessly making himself at home. She liked it, she wanted him to be comfortable in her house. He was her partner after all. He grinned ruefully. She considered chastising him, just for the sake of teasing but bit it back. He was making a statement, he was letting her moment of pulling away slide. This was what careful compromise looked like. She'd take it.

"Coffee?" she smiled. She'd just drunk at least a litre of milk. Still, she wanted to procrastinate a little before she ah, _accidently_ sat just that little bit too close to Castle on the couch and let his voice lull her into contented oblivion. Nothing like delaying the inevitable just that little bit longer…

**AN: Ah, so in this story Josh is dead/never existed/in Africa/secretly a woman/other... We all cool with that? Thought so… **

**FF net has swallowed all your beautiful reviews and won't let me look at/reply to them at this moment, so a big collective – thank you, you're all the best! – will have to suffice… **


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I'm going off my memory – not the most reliable tool out there – in saying that around 3x21 Castle would be working on **_**Heat Rises**_**. All of Castle's reading is from there (just to clarify that I do not own it). If I'm wrong, whoops… (In the wise words of Richard Castle, "don't ruin my story with your logic…") **

_One Writer Girl_

_Chapter Three_

Castle was stunned. Kate Beckett, leggy, unattainable, _Kate Beckett_ was totally trying to seduce him. Well, she'd offered to make him coffee. Maybe he was reading into the gesture a tiny bit. Still, it didn't matter which way he looked at it – let's be honest, he was only looking at it one way – coffee was _their_ thing, it was a blatant act of seduction. Oh, it was totally working.

He trailed after her into the kitchen, the distance of the room, the _wall_, separating them suddenly seeming like too much. He watched her for a moment as she carefully measured the coffee grounds.

"You know, Beckett, it's late to be having coffee…unless you're planning on staying up all night," he contributed, seemingly offhandedly, holding back the wink itching to break free. If the blush rising on her cheeks was anything to go by, she got the connotation of his words. Her hand shook and she gave up all pretence of measuring the coffee, just depositing a sizable lump into the machine. She was _so_ trying to seduce him. Seriously, she got the implication of what exactly the coffee was for and instead of holding back, she was deliberately plying him with caffeine. He can never sleep again for all he cares.

Even if he's a little off with the seduction thing – he totally isn't, he's been around Beckett long enough to get a read on her (in _theory _– can anyone really get a read on someone with as much depth as the profound detective before him?) – it doesn't matter, he'll just turn it around and be the one doing the seducing. Either way, he's reached the conclusion that there will be seduction happening tonight. If Beckett wants a story, she will get a story – one to tell the grandkids if Castle has any say in the matter. Granted, if the night goes anything like he's planning, the grandkids will have to get a carefully constructed G version…

Beckett nudged a steaming cup of coffee into his hands, wrenching his attention from his thoughts of the future to the reality of the present. As swell as his imaginings of the future were – the present certainly wasn't half bad. Beckett was regarding him with a soft smile. On second thought, the present was rather magnificent.

"What if I do want to stay up all night, Castle," she teased, a sultry tone to her voice that had Castle's blood pumping wildly in anticipation.

"Yeah?" he managed to gape through the heady rush of emotion. He remembered to use his legs for standing – they were suddenly feeling a little unsteady, it was a good thing he was expressing ordering them to function.

"Yeah… I was promised a _story_," she smirked, sashaying her way to the couch in a manner that was so not fit for platonic behaviour. She was _such_ a tease. It was awesome. He couldn't believe he'd ever found other women attractive, they had _nothing_ on her. No one measured up. She had no equal in beauty or raw sex appeal – his body certainly liked to reinforce that concept with every sway of her hips. He followed her back into the living room – how could he not? The irresistible pull of _her_ dominating his every conscious thought.

He planted himself a respectable distance away from her on the couch. He itched to be closer, but it was her space, her rules. The fact that she'd even extended the invitation to him to come to her apartment like this was more than enough for the moment. She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking suggestively to the laptop he'd deposited on her table. Right. He was here for the story – wasn't he?

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She had to give it to him, the man got her hints. Of course, staring obviously at his computer wasn't exactly subtle. Still, there was meaning in the suggestion that he was so finely attuned to her thoughts. It was a source of comfort, he knew her. He knew her, faults and all, and still, here he was, ready and willing to give her more. He smoothly entered his password, eyes flicking from the screen to her face every few seconds as the machine buzzed to life. She took measured sips of her coffee and tried to quash the blush forming under her skin at his gaze. He stared at her every day, she shouldn't be affected by it. Still, there was something more to this gaze. Something that looked a lot like _hope_. She was a little scared to meet his eyes – fairly certain that he would see the same emotion reflected back at him. It was that thought that unsettled her the most.

"Um," he cleared his throat. "It's still pretty rough, I'm in the process of mapping it out. The first few chapters are written… Do you want to read it, or?" his careful confidence had given way to a rising nervousness that caused his voice to come out a little strained. Beckett bit down on her lip to keep from giggling – just a little – apparently he was affected by her too, it was sweet. She liked the bumbling version of the Castle, the man behind the polished persona.

"I want you to read it to me," she asserted – gentle yet fierce, she meant it. He gaped at her for a moment. Sure, he'd kind of expected it, she had said as much. He nodded blankly, trying to form a coherent answer that wasn't _I am so completely in love with you_. Her cheeks coloured with a deep blush. What the?

Oh crap. _Oh crap_. Oh crap. What poker face? She was supposed to have one of those. Just, this, _Castle reading to her_ kind of featured _regularly_ in a fair few of her fantasies. It wasn't reserved to the blush-inducing fantasy genre in the least. It was the one she desperately tried to ignore, the one where she – _they_ – would come home from an exhausting day at the precinct and slip into bed or the bath and he would lull her to sleep with gentle tenor of his voice. It was the fantasy that conflicted her most, she feared and longed for it with equal measure. It _could_ be reality – if they gave each other a chance, if she gave him a chance.

"Okay," he studiously diverted his eyes to the screen nestled on his lap, acknowledging her blush by blatantly ignoring it. That was good. She didn't really want to answer that question. Chances were she would have answered honestly. She could see the smug grin that would stick with him for the rest of their lives so very clearly in her minds eyes. Hold up – the rest of _their_ lives? God. Her mind had already decided for her. What did that leave her to convince? Her heart was on board. Her head was conjuring up their entire future without her expressly intending it so. It seemed her body was the only aspect still lingering on the sidelines. Maybe it was time to get in the game…

As always, Castle seemed attuned to her thoughts –

"Hey, Beckett, you're a literate woman," he mused, shifting his body towards her with a grin. She arched an eyebrow skywards, _literate_? Yes. How about academic? Intelligent? Linguistically gifted? He evidently caught the tone of her distaste. "Ah. That came out wrong. Starting over. Hey, Beckett, you're a brilliant literary mind with an exceptional grasp of grammar, how about you follow along as I read, help me with the edit?" She shrugged. Tried to keep the internal squeal from breaking free – her favourite author, her _favourite_ freaking author wanted her to proofread his novel. His novel _based on her_ for that matter. Oh god. What was oxygen? A mantra of _internalise it, internalise it_ resonated through her mind as she shifted closer to his side, butterflies of excitement wrecking havoc on her steady composure.

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Beckett's body was flush against his, her eyes hungrily devouring the words on the page. He couldn't concentrate on a single one. Her body was _flush_ against his. Her body. Her. Oh. The things he wanted to do to her body. How could she seriously be reading at a time like this? His mind could only comprehend one thing, _her_. His entire universe focussed into the feel of her shoulder against his, her thigh pressing alongside his. She settled her head onto his shoulder.

"Read, Castle," she breathed slowly. He could feel the tight muscles of her jaw expanding and contracting as she spoke. Her cheek turned into his shoulder. Read? He wasn't sure he could. He could barely remember his name. All his brainpower spiralling to mush under her seemingly casual touch. Okay, he was a bestselling author – he could read, right? It wasn't that much of an ask. He forced his eyes to focus, the blur of light adjusting into small, black letters.

"_Chapter One. The thing about New York City is you never know what's behind a door_…" he kept his tone steady, quickly getting caught up in world of his characters – but never completely forgetting the detective beside him. She listened silently, nodding along every now and then, humming deep in her throat. Time stretched away from them, words becoming sentences, sentences becoming chapters.

She let loose an indignant snort –

"No way in hell are you publishing _that_, Castle!" He backtracked, rereading the sentences –

_She read his look and said, "I worked vice once." _

"_So did I," said Raley._

"_I worked it harder." Heat arched a brow and watched him blush_.

"Nikki has spunk. It works," he shrugged.

"No. First you go and give me – _her – _a stripper name and now you're insinuating that she practically was a stripper…" Beckett groaned, eyes pinched shut. "I think my father reads these books."

"Firstly, not a stripper. An undercover hooker – _so_ much hotter," Castle grinned. Beckett slowly shook her head at him in response. "Besides your father knows better than anyone your wild child phase…" She laughed at that, she couldn't help herself. He had a point.

"Mmm, you play your cards right and you could _know_ better than anyone my _wild_ ways," she practically leered at him – hottest thing ever. _Ever_. This metaphorical card game was the most important of his life. Even having Beckett so tightly pressed into his side solidified that he had been dealt a _spectacular_ hand.


	4. Chapter 4

_One Writer Girl_

_Chapter Four_

She was pressed into his side teasing him, surely that meant he was allowed to be touching her? He could take a chance, judging from her current, casual state of dress she probably didn't have a gun holstered to her thigh. He could just run his hand along her leg, a simply brush and survive without his life coming under immediate threat. An innocent, accidental touch… she'd buy it, right? Of course, there was nothing innocent about the heat of fire that burned in his veins with every brush of their bodies. There was nothing accidental about the way he longed to mark her as his. Mark her with his hands, his lips, his teeth, his _love_.

He stretched out his arms, encircling the laptop still perched on his lap, but instead of bring his hand back to the keys, he dropped them to his sides – his right arm coming to rest against the long plane of Beckett's leg. She didn't shoot him. She didn't acknowledge his new closeness with words – a short, strangled exhale of breath was his only clue that she'd noticed. He wondered if she could feel it too, the tingling intensity of their proximity.

"Castle," she murmured softly, tilting her body further towards his, the sharp angle of her knee pressing into his thigh. He fixed his gaze intently upon hers, the move enough to ensure that she knew she commandeered his undivided attention. Whether she was aware of it or not, she always had his attention. "Do Nikki and Rook make it?" she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, steadily staring as his chest, avoiding the intensity of his gaze.

"Of course," he stated – the response immediate. He didn't need time to mull it over.

"How can you be so sure?" she queried, absentmindedly running the pads of her fingers over his outstretched arm – his now hyper aware outstretched arm. Her touch left a trail of heated goose bumps in its wake. She didn't seem to notice, eyes still studiously avoiding his. He struggled to tamper down the urge to kiss the questions away from her lips. She seemed so hesitant, so unsure – he was suddenly very aware that they weren't really talking about Nikki and Rook. He needed to phrase his answer very carefully. She deserved an honest answer.

"Rook loves Nikki. He thinks she's remarkable. _Extraordinary_," he cleared his throat, swallowing the emotion, the _I love you_ behind his every word.

"Nikki, does she love Rook?" Beckett breathed, her voice dropping to a whisper. Castle found himself wanting to answer that the question was better posed to her – who were they kidding? This was them they were talking about, it had always been about them.

"Nikki is a complex character. People find her cold, closed off to love. She's been hurt before. They're _wrong_. The only reason she's been hurt so badly is because she loves so deeply. If Rook proves himself to her, she every bit as capable of loving him back," Castle reasoned, his voice thick. He wanted nothing more than to prove himself to her, starting with just how physically compatible he was sure they would be. Her cheeks were tinged the slightest shade of pink, her eyes lidded. He wanted her taste on his lips. He wanted her with a painful, aching desperation. He wasn't sure he could leave her house tonight without pressing his lips to hers just once – it wouldn't satisfy… It would never be enough – unless she was kissing him back.

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Beckett's heart was pounding from her chest. It was also burning, a fire that couldn't be quelled. She couldn't control it. Couldn't rein in it. She didn't even want to try anymore. The way Castle was looking at her was the sweetest kind of unbearable. Her doubts, her fears were erased with his careful words. He believed in Nikki and Rook – he believed in _them_. Nikki and Rook would make it. He may not have written the ending in ink, but it was solidified in his mind. The way he spoke was free of uncertainty. He wanted that story for the pair of them. He _loved_ her. He saw her capable of loving him – and she was, wasn't she? She _was_.

Enough thinking, the time for thinking was over, it was time for action.

"Save that," she nodded briskly at the laptop. Castle's fingers automatically flicked the keyboard shortcut. "Move it," she added. No sooner had the words left her lips than the laptop was falling from Castle's fumbling fingers to the ground. Oh well. He'd buy another if need be. Besides, it was probably fine – what was a scratch every now and then? His hands flexed at his side – wanting to touch, but waiting for her to take the lead. He wasn't sure exactly what was happening. Maybe, she was about to kick him out for mentally undressing her with his eyes over and over again in his mind? Or, for the dumbstruck staring? What if she didn't want Nikki and Rook to end up together? What if –

He was cut off from his thoughts by soft, warm lips pushing against his. Oh _god_. Kate Beckett was kissing him, _him_. Unicorns were real. Aliens roamed the earth. His father was a spy. All seemed more plausible than this. Beckett willingly kissing him – no undercover pretence, no pretences at all. Just her, alive and tender above him. He kissed her back, pushing into the seam of her mouth with his tongue. She devoured him, teeth clashing in battle for dominance that he didn't have a hope of winning. Besides, why would he want to win if losing felt this good? He lost the ability to form coherent thought – he lost the ability to do more than kiss her back with every ounce of his passion.

She let loose a guttural moan that turned every utterance of his self control to dust. He pushed her back into the couch, hands roaming, eyes burning, lips consuming. She dragged his mouth to her jaw, panting for air.

"Kate," he breathed against her skin, reverence colouring his tone.

"Castle," she echoed, running her fingers lazily through his hair, keeping him close.

"Are you sure you want this? I'm – ah – not going to be able to stop if you keep touching me like that," he groaned, his gaze steady and so very dark.

"Can't let my fictional counterpart get all the happy endings," Beckett sighed, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. He hummed his agreement. She manoeuvred herself out from under him, rising to her feet on slightly unsteady legs. She shirked her shirt, sashaying towards her bedroom, her intentions more than clear. "You coming, Castle?" she smirked, turning back towards him – his eyes ballooning at the expanse of bare skin before him.

"I love it when you talk dirty," he gulped, stumbling across the room in her wake.

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Beckett woke to sound of steady tapping – akin to rain, but not quite the same, more regular, a certain beat to it. She edged an eye open to catch the subtle glow of Castle's laptop, his fingers running over the keys in practiced motion.

"Castle, if I read about what we just did in the next Nikki Heat, we will _never_ do it again," she muttered, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he soothed, his hand brushing the hair carefully away from her face. "Go back to sleep."

"Mmm. Read to me, Castle," she ordered a little mushily, her eyes slipping shut once again.

"I'm beginning to think that stands for something else," he chuckled, running a hand up her thigh in a move that was far from innocent.

"You complaining?" Beckett wrenched her eyes open, only to narrow them in a fierce glare.

"No. Never. In fact we should do it again," Castle tone was solemn, but his eyes were dancing with unshed laughter.

"What happened to go back to sleep?" Beckett sighed, stifling a yawn. Despite her words, the manner with which she moved her body to straddle his convinced Castle that sleep was totally off the agenda, at least for the moment.

As she lay, sated in the arms of her writer, Beckett was utterly convinced of the merits of being a one writer girl. There were no downfalls. He was rewriting their story with a happy ending. A beginning solidified in the most permanent of ink, love stringing each and every page together, life building the chapters. Theirs would be a story worth reading.

_Fin. _

**AN: Thanks for all the support – you guys are undoubtedly the greatest! Let me know what you thought. **


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